


The Beatific Vision

by ide_cyan



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Flash Fiction, Male Solo, Other, Religious Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 16:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13252323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ide_cyan/pseuds/ide_cyan
Summary: Fidelity in long-distance relationships is a test of faith.





	The Beatific Vision

It's not a sin if he doesn't touch himself. His hands are raised above his head, gripping the rails of the bed, white-knuckled. His feet are planted on either side of the narrow mattress, too narrow. It's a struggle to keep his knees apart. To keep his thighs from touching. He has cast off the covers. His clothes are on the floor. No contact but the rough linen underneath him, the mosquito net, brushing the sides of his calves, and the sweat dripping down his skin. It's not _a_ sin if he doesn't touch himself, doesn't take his own cock in his hand because that is his Husband's prerogative, because masturbation is adultery and he is married to God. So he prays, desire shooting arrows into his flesh, and remembers, half-remembers as the faces of the people he's desired skitter through his mind in flashes, the little Church Mouse smiling under her wimple, writhing under her covers; the matatu driver with the long hair pursing his lips around a cigarette, shaking his hand, his eyes warmer than the blistering day... His cock hardens and salutes the heavens, and he remembers the satisfaction of beating back the last demon, his hands God's instument then, remembers the hard wood of the crucifix digging into his palm as he brandished it, as the medal on his wrist clinks against the metal railing of the bed and his hands warm the round metal poles, and he casts aside other visions, other faces, bites his lip and conjures the blinding memory of his one true love, the numinous indescribable all-encompassing heavenly Lover, arches his hips and his back and knots his muscles all the way to his core and comes, semen splashing onto his face like tears.

Falling back onto the mattress, his body quieting down as the creaking of the bedframe subsides, he clasps his hands together, thumbs pressed against his beard, rough and wet.

"O, Father," he murmurs under his halted breath. "Forgive me."


End file.
